Lust
by Maiden of Mercy
Summary: Pyramid Head, the merciless Executioner, punishes a pitiful female sinner in the only way he knows how. Silent Hill 2 era. PH/OC
1. Chapter 1

Pyramid Head looked down at the soft, squirming female beneath him with a sadistic satisfaction. She was young, _much_ younger than he was used to. Yet still she had sins on her conscience. Such_ sick_, sexual sins. Sins of the mind. Corrupted fantasises followed by tears, ones she wept for herself and not what she had done. This girl was so lost in her own wretchedness that she had become scarce more than a tick on the flesh of the earth. This was a punishable offence as far as Silent Hill was concerned.

That, of course, was why she had been sent here. To be punished. It didn't matter to _him _what she had done, _or_ how old she was. All Pyramid Head cared about was taking this pitiful creature and laying waste to any purity left in its body.

He was the master of defilement, the reaper of innocence. It was his life's work to plunder helpless females of their goods. His occupation, yet also his pleasure. He was filled with endless need- an aching lust that forced him to fuck anything he could get his hands on. Mannequins, patients, nurses... whores of every species. But he was especially partial to humans. He loved their fear, their screaming. Their dripping cores and yielding flesh. Yes. They made the very best victims for Pyramid Head's prime form of torture.

_This_ bitch was one example of such perfection. Soft, black hair framing a vaguely pretty face. Glassy green eyes empty of regret. And a fragile body with rounded breasts, sensual and tempting. He had seen such flesh many times before. He knew for certain that it would be _perfect_ for tearing…

The girl reeked of blood and fear, but he liked that. It made her all the more beautiful to him.

The female begged and screeched, twisting her body deliciously against his. Pyramid Head groaned softly. He looked down, helmet scraping against his skull, and admired the female. Her delicate skin was _glowing_. As his hands crept up her bare thighs, it flushed a blood-like crimson in the gloom.

These reactions were childish for one so mentally tainted.

Pyramid Head wanted to thrust himself inside her at once. But the bitch squirmed like a tortured serpent in his hands. At first, her movements were only feeble. Then they became violent, lashing to and fro in frenzy. Pyramid Head jerked backwards. The girl's face was twisted with a mixture of loathing and disrespect.

This was something he _could not stand_.

_He_ was the ultimate killer, the demonic Butcher, the king of the dead. He deserved a fearful respect from his victims and enemies alike. Although Pyramid Head was not proud or arrogant, he knew himself to be dominant over all others. The idea of this deplorable human showing contempt for him filled him with an uncontrollable demonic fire.

Pyramid Head wrested the female's skinny body from the ground and smashed it down again, crushing her face into the dirt. He pinned her flat whilst he ripped her skirt away. At the thought of what lay beneath he felt himself hardening. This lust increased as he tore the final garment away.

His searching eyes sought out dark curls and glistening wetness. Savagely, he snapped the female's legs wide apart. She stared at him in true horror, understanding now what was to become of her. Her breath became rapid and crackly. A small trickle of liquid ran down her inner thigh.

Then she spoke.

In her voice Pyramid Head could hear the echoes of a thousand long-dead nurses begging to be spared.

"_Please don't hurt me_."

The voice of misery. The voice of the damned. The voice of despair.

How truly sad this creature was. He would make her _see_ that he was the true embodiment of deviance and unable to show even a hint of empathy.

He would make he see in the only way he knew how.

With a bestial roar of pleasure he plunged inside her frail body.

The girl let loose a blistering scream of raw agony. Pyramid Head relished it.

To him, it was beautiful- in a painful, primal way. It spurred him on as he shoved his throbbing member inside her. He briefly noticed something tear within.

_The membrane of innocence. _

The female _was perfect_. Tight, wet, clenching down on him so hard he almost came. Her pathetic figure writhed against him in spasms of pain. Pyramid Head, continuing his relentless brutality, tore her dress away to release her breasts. Her nipples were hardened, skin dampened with sweat.

It was all so grotesquely beautiful.

The beast fucked her so hard the hallways echoed with her screams. He fucked her _so hard_ her eyes rolled back in her head, trapped in an ecstasy of both pain and some nightmarish pleasure. His body meshed with hers, entwined, slick with blood and cum and sweat, thrusting and grinding and convulsing with fierce passion. All of his anger and wanton wishes were purged as he screwed her.

Each grunt and growl that escaped from the confines of his helmet mingled with the female's insane howling, clashed in a chaotic mass of rising orgasm.

And although he had crushed her and raped her and ravaged her, the girl continued to struggle with all her might. Whilst doing so she wept grubby tears of self-loathing. Pyramid Head licked them from her cheek with his slippery tongue. The whore's lips contorted in revulsion. She tried to pull away from him, but to no avail. Eventually she slumped backwards and closed her eyes. Her only sounds now were pants of sheer exhaustion.

Meanwhile, Pyramid Head continued to thrust himself inside her. He revelled in the intoxicating heat churning in his loins. He was close, _so_ close. But before he came, he wanted the female to suffer her punishment completely.

Whilst fucking her with increasing violence, the beast took the girl's face in his hand and jerked it toward him. He did not need to speak to give her his message. The words were in the air, on his skin, in both of their heads. She _knew_ their purposes.

"I am the God of filth and death. I am the master of rape and ravishment. I am the foulest fallen angel. The inspiration of evil in the hearts of others, born to desecrate, defile, despoil. Know this, human harlot, and submit to me."

The female cringed away. She shook her head, ignoring her tears. Pyramid Head groaned gutturally. His hips bucked against her in the final throes of sex, thrusting deep into her sweet centre. His whole body screamed for a release.

"Succumb to me, whore. _Submit_. Acknowledge your God."

At last the wretched female fell still, head bowed in defeat.

And with a growl of satisfaction Pyramid Head spilled his useless seed inside her.

For a moment, he basked in the glory of his monstrous deed. Then with a growl of pure malevolence he wrapped his fist around her tender throat and crushed it to splinters.

Mary corridors away, a man with tousled blond hair nervously raised his head. Was it his imagination or could he hear terrible, tortured screams in the air?

No. It must be his conscience playing tricks on him again. No doubt about it.

But as he turned away, he shivered heavily.


	2. Chapter 2

It lay like a worm in the dark, blood and vomit oozing from the cracked corners of its lips. Twist of chain links and barbed wire pulled taut around its wrists and rib cage kept it suspended in a position between standing and prostration, the ends knotted over a length of rusty pipe protruding from the nearby wall. Every so often a guttural clanking would emit from this pipe, a signal that, within, blood-clotted water still continued to pump. It was the only sound within the chamber to be heard apart from the soft jingle of metal and the laboured breathing of the creature bound there.

It was difficult to determine how long it had been there, alone in the gloom. Days, perhaps a week, maybe even more. Time passed as seamlessly as a cloud in the night, for there was no set regime to use in order to gauge its motions. Sometimes, something white and stumbling would enter the room and feed the creature a rotten, liquidised meat from a dirty invalid cup, but this occurred with such irregularity that it was no help at all. The first time this had happened the creature had protested strongly, bucking and screaming although this only forced the iron barbs deeper within its flesh. The gory spatter of blood on the stone floor had seemed impossibly loud in contrast to the quiet that had long dominated the place. Some landed on the visitor, but it did not react, its bobbing, twitching features unflinching. Its cold hands just kept pushing and pushing at the creature's mouth, trying to pour the foul substance inside.

"Go away," said the creature. "What _are_ you? Leave me alone! Leave me!"

But the white visitor didn't leave. Even when the creature ejected what little it had swallowed, the visitor remained persistent until the cup was empty and the creature had broken down in tears. It wanted to go home, regretted ever leaving. It had come to Silent Hill in defiance of its mother, who had lived there in childhood and forbade her offspring ever retracing her steps. Yet it had, now here it was, suffering for its behaviour.

It remembered how it had gotten here all too well. This was the memory that haunted it as it hung alone amid the gloom, waiting for what it did not know. The creature had been exploring the burnt-out wreckage of an ancient hospital, tugging back grubby sheets from the desiccated corpses of long-dead patients with morbid relish, when it had heard something peculiar in the distance. A hair-raising squeal, metal against stone, as if an object were being dragged or sharpened. This had struck the creature as strange, for it could see no reason why anything else living would be present in this virtual morgue of a building. Curious, it had followed the noise to its source and, upon seeing it, had scrambled backwards and struck its head against the door frame in terror. For there, thrusting and groaning in a knot of dismembered cadavers, was a massive beast whose head was imprisoned in what looked like a triangular helmet whose sides were slick with blood. Noticing the creature, it rose to its full height, every muscle in its glistening form tight and heaving with strength. It parted the pile of bodies with one flick of its arm as if it were nothing, and came towards the creature with an alarming speed that put it in mind of an anaconda. Of course, it tried to run, but it was nothing against the beast. The monster hauled it up by the scruff of its neck and squeezed its throat until its vision splintered and died.

It came to not long afterwards in a stinking chamber, the monster crouched so low over it that the creature could feel great waves of dead cold emanating from is body. It was constructing some sort of bondage cage around the creature to hold it in the precise way it desired, trying scraps of stuff here and there as its pleased with its colossal hands. The creature instantly began to fight in an effort to liberate itself, but in doing so pulled a cord of weaved electrical cable about its throat so that it almost choked itself. The monster wasd apparently aroused by the creature's distress, for it flipped it onto its front and began to push its own massive frame against the creature's. Only then did it realize that it was naked, and that something equally nude was emerging from the beige hide apron the monster had on. A fiery panic filled the creature's head. It shouted for its mother and imagined, in its hysteria, that it saw her in its peripheral vision, but if this was so then she made no move to help its child. The monster brutalized the creature, raped it raw, whilst it flopped and squirmed amid the nest of tearing metal until streams of torn skin fluttered like gruesome butterflies about them. Satisfied, the monster left, and the creature had not seen it since.

But it would come, _was_ coming. The creature knew it, and wished that it was dead rather than face the beast again.


	3. Chapter 3

As the hours past in the choking darkness, the creature began to recall, in broken pieces, that it was human. Or, at least, it had been, for it felt that somehow its body had been changed by the sickly power of the town into something more fitting to its deeper nature. The creature knew that it had been a girl, young and stupid, defiant of its mother's wishes although her word was God's. It- or, she, as it had then been- had been skinny and gawking, high-breasted and slant-eyed with a head of light, ruffled hair like feather-down. It had been pretty.

Not anymore.

The creature's torso was rubbed raw and thick with scabs, cold sores gathering in hardened lumps around its lips and nostrils. Stress had made its hair come out in clumps and its spine was warped from the angle at which it was held. Once, when the white visitor came into the room, it had left the door ajar so that meagre light trickled in, allowing the creature to see its reflection in the invalid cup. This had made it cry, sobbing even as the visitor poured the meat-juice down its throat. The visitor itself was no beauty; at least, in no conventional sense. Its body was, indeed, that of a lovely, curvaceous woman, but it walked clumsily, and its head was held oddly and wrapped up in rotten bandages that obscured its face. The creature guessed from its garb that it was supposed to be a nurse- a cruel irony. It looked away from the pretty legs under the short skirt and tried to remember its name. But it couldn't.

Lots of things seemed to trickle away like that, sucked away into the mist. It seemed as if all that existed was the bleak present and the ominous future, and occasionally the immediate past. The Pyramid Headed fiend had begun to visit her and afterwards it would always lie there, wracked with agonised spasms, and dwell on what had occurred. The creature had strange flash backs to history lessons it had been given as a child, the teacher walking the class around a museum and pointing out grim depictions of executioners on the walls. One of these had a caption beneath that told of a ritual death prepared for women who had sinned. They were stripped, it said, and caged like the animals their society perceived them to be, and the Executioner would perform the most grisly and public tortures upon them through the bars until putting them to death. The creature was frightened that this was the fate awaiting it, but it felt as if the sentence were already being carried out, prolonged to further the creature's torment and the Pyramid monster's relish.

For it evidently took immense pleasure out of what it did. On one occasion, it reached up with one arm as thick as a bull's flank and pulled the creature down so that it dangled pathetically upside down, its legs flailing apart. That done, the monster thrust one hand in the open flower between its thighs and violated it, kneading the black-bruised lips, and the creature had seen even from its awkward vantage point the solid black mass of a tongue protruding from under the helmet and a glob of saliva suspended on a silver strand. Another time, the beast had taken one of the creature's breasts in its fist and wrenched it so violently that for a moment it expected the tissue to tear away in its grip. Instead, it only hurt, and the creature's screams spilled where flesh and blood did not.

Often the creature wondered if it had really been so bad as to deserve the punishments being inflicted upon it, but it supposed that if this ancient Executioner saw fit to persecute it then surely it must have been wicked indeed. It knew that it had disobeyed its mother in coming to Silent Hill, the town she so vehemently hated, and perhaps that was wrong enough. Mother was sacred and holy. The church to which the creature had been dragged once a week had preached this above all over things. The Mother, Alessa, black-haired and beautiful, was just one of the many powerful matriarchal symbols the creature had come to know and worship. But what help were they to it now, in this dank prison. If it prayed, they would not listen, for it had sinned. They would turn their backs in righteous abandonment as the hulking beast heaved and thrust into it, deafen themselves to its begging words. They must be used to fallen followers fawning and beseeching; maybe even bored by them. For the creature could not imagine that nay deity with a benevolent heart could look upon a miserable wretch suffering as it did and feel no urge to aid it.

The creature understood now that it was, completely, alone. The white visitor and the Pyramid beast were all the company it had, and they were dreaded visitations indeed. It could stiffen against its bindings as the dreaded scream of the monster's blade came howling down the corridor, the somehow silent step of such a colossal beast striking it as somewhat surreal, but eerie. Its step caused some disturbance, some anticipating vibration in the air, but that was all. Just the metal-scream, and then the waiting.

How it hated the waiting,


End file.
